


Working on my five-year plan (just have to choose a font)

by Grace_d



Series: Short Stories for Small Spiders [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Bisexual Peter Parker, Chuck AU, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Gay Ned Leeds, Gen, Harley Keener is definitely a spy, Jewish Peter Parker, M/M, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Past Parkner, Peter Parker gets a computer in his brain, Peter Parker is... a spy too?, Tony is a spy, best friends and idiots, but he doesn't stay dead long, christmas period fic, death of a central character, heavily featured Parker luck, pre interwebs, realities of retail work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_d/pseuds/Grace_d
Summary: Peter Parker doesn’t have a lot going for him right now. Kicked out of MIT for something he didn't do, still living with his Aunt and stuck at his retail job, he's just aiming to survive the last-minute gift buying frenzy at the Save-More. Which gets harder after his ex sends him some weird, virus-infected email that gives him the worst headache.His luck starts to turn when an impressed customer wants to hire him for some freelance tech work. It seems like an amazing opportunity, exactly what he dreamt of when he was at MIT.He didn’t expect so much gunfire at his job interview.OR, don't freak out, but it's a Chuck AU
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Short Stories for Small Spiders [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1423630
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25
Collections: Irondad and Spiderson Secret Santa 2020





	Working on my five-year plan (just have to choose a font)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impravidus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impravidus/gifts).



> Merry Christmas @impravidus  
> Thank you so much for all your hard work in organising this secret santa gift exchange, corralling errant writers into being on schedule is no small feat!! 
> 
> That said, it's been an absolute delight to write a fic for you-our wonderful organiser and friend! 
> 
> Thank you to @OnceUponaFangirl helping me get the set up, @ferretshark and @coconutknightshade for hyping me up, and @blondsak for the last minute save on summaries and tags.

**The Parker Apartment,**  
**Queens, New York**  


“Ned!” Peter whispers urgently, the harsh light of his cell casting shadows in the dark room, “Where are you!”  


Peter gets his answer as the window makes a horrible screech, and Peter sees Ned, silhouetted in the frame by the streetlight haze. Freezing winter wind whips into the room, blowing papers and small snowy flurries about. Peter stumbles over to the window, trying desperately to remain quiet as he follows Ned in their escape. Far below them, cars honk on the busy street and streetlights shine against the falling snow. It’s a long way down.  


Peter shivers. “I’m uncomfortable with the plan.”  


“What plan?” Ned grunts, straddling at the window ledge, “This is survival.”  


The door handle to the darkened bedroom starts to turn, and Peter startles, bringing his hands to shield his face.  


“We’ve been made!” Ned gasps, “I’m a ghost!”  


He throws himself out the window as the door bursts open. 

“Peter. What the heck are you doing?” Aunt May stands in the doorway, hands on her hips.  


“Um, escaping?” Peter says weakly, blinking against the sudden brightness as May flips the lights on.  


“Escaping? From your own apartment?”  


Peter winces. “It’s more the, leaving the apartment thing, that we’re escaping from?”  


Aunt May narrows her eyes. “My work Christmas party?”  


“You mean your work non-denominational holiday party!” Ned shouts from where he clings to the outside of the building.  


“We just feel like we aren’t going to fit in, at your work non-denominational holiday party, um, because we won’t know anyone. Because they all happen to be your colleagues and” Peter takes a deep breath and pushes out the last part as quickly as possible “I know you’re trying to set me up with someone.”  


“So, the obvious solution to avoid a conversation with a handsome doctor would be to jump out the window?” May asks.  


“Less awkward, maybe? Doctors don’t really get our jokes.” Peter says weakly.  


“Well, your jokes,” Ned puffs, his fingers just visibly, gripping the windowsill tightly. “I watch a lot of Gray’s Anatomy so...”  


Peter tips his head towards Ned in concession. His best friend does watch a lot of Gray’s Anatomy and has some top shelf medical puns.  


“Ned!” Aunt May yells. “I thought you supported me on this!”  


“May,” Ned manages to throw an elbow over the windowsill, “I am a thousand percent on board with operation ‘Peter moves on’. With my whole heart. But a doctor? That’d the deep end. Marriage material. Our boy needs to start out small, wade in the kiddie pool a little…”  


“I don’t want to go swimming at all!” Peter shoots his aunt a pitiful glance, playing with his red striped tie. “No swimming for Peter.”  


“I had to bribe admin to get your name onto that list! Peter, it’s free food and alcohol, and a chance to meet people of all ages and backgrounds to get you outside of your little-” May gestures between Peter and Ned, apparently unable to explain their friendship. “No offense, Ned, you know I love you.”  


“None taken, May!” Ned gasps, “We can be a little co-dependent!”  


“May…” Peter pleads.  


“Peter, no. Listen to me. You are smart, you are funny and you are handsome-“  


“Oh thank you.” Peter interjects.  


“-You are going to come with me to this party and be all the wonderful things that I know you are, and you are going to Make. A. Friend.” Aunt May raises an eyebrow and Peter relents. “Now get up, take off that ridiculous work uniform, and come out looking like the handsome man I raised. Not you Ned, honey, sorry you have to stay here.” May turns and leaves the room.  


“No problems, Aunt May!” Ned gives her a strained wave.  


Peter sighs, “Looks like I’m going to a party.” He stands from where he was crouching. “Do you need a hand getting in?”  


Ned stands up on the fire escape, brushing snow from his jacket. “Nah, I’m good.”

  


**The Upload Room, Sub-basement 4,  
The Triskelion,  
Roosevelt Island, Washington**  


The room waits in icy white stillness, a small holographic console in the middle of the room the only furniture. The green login screen pulses gently, waiting, and the powerful servers housed below the floor vibrate almost imperceptible.  


Suddenly, quiet screeching comes from a cooling vent above the console. The vent grid wobbles, then lifts away into the roof. A masked figure, all in black, lowers themselves through, feet swinging for a moment, then drops to the floor with barely a sound.  


Rising to his full height, the intruder approaches the console. He pulls a modified phone from his pocket, plugging it into the screen. A backdoor access program initiates, and the hum below his feet intensifies as the white walls around him flicker to life.  


“Okay, baby,” the man cracks his neck, then his knuckles, “let’s see what you’ve got.” 

**Murph’s Bar,  
Queens, New York**  


Sitting on a small high table at the bar, Peter shifts again. The small movement throws his whole balance off and he starts to tip, arms pinwheeling helplessly for a moment before he grabs the beer-sticky table and rights himself. It is in that moment of Peter’s devastating suaveness that May appears, a ridiculously handsome man in tow.  


Peter’s mouth goes immediately dry and his brain bluescreens as May introduces the guy, who looks incredibly stylish with a tightly cropped afro blending into a short beard across his cut glass jawline. Peter shoots May a helpless look. 

May smiles and excuses herself.  


The ridiculously handsome man asks Peter a question.  


“I’m so sorry,” Peter croaks, “what was that?”  


“I said, hey, I’m Guy.” The man smiles and extends his hand to Peter, “What’s up?”  


Peter returns the shake automatically, then winces as he feels the sticky beer residue on his hand against Guy’s smooth palm. 

Guy doesn’t seem to notice, although he twists Peter’s hand in his own, “Oh, ouch.” He says with sympathy, gently examining the tape wrapped around Peter’s fingertips. 

Peter blushes and retracts his hand. “It’s a Halo injury.” He rubs that hand against his dark jeans and smiles hesitantly. “The controllers tend to chafe after several hours.” 

“Oh!” Guy says, “video games, cute.” He cocks his head as he slides smoothly onto the stool opposite Peter, “So what else do you get up to, Peter?” 

“Um, I work at the Save-More in Queens?” Peter says, reaching automatically to smooth his work tie down self-consciously, before remember May ripped it off him before dragging him out the door. “I’m part of the Geek force.”  


“Tech support?” Guy laughs out loud, “That’s adorable. What do you really want to do?” 

“Working on my five-year plan, just got to choose a font.” Peter hedges. 

May reappears suddenly at Peter’s elbow. He jumps like a spooked rabbit. 

“Peter’s been building a drone in his spare time!” She says with a proud smile, handing them both beers and then disappearing again. 

“Drones! Nice work, man,” Guy smiles, and although Peter thinks he definitely overuses the word ‘Man’, his smile is really lovely, and Peter forces himself to take a sip of his beer and relax the foot that’s hammering against the footrest. It works too, until Guy’s next question. 

“May says you went to MIT?” 

“That’s technically correct.” Peter places his beer back down, gripping the neck tightly. Oh god, he thinks, pull yourself together Peter, not here. 

“What was your major?” 

“BioChem and Mechatronics.” Peter says.

“No way! I knew this other guy who did mechatronics, he was totally cool, um, he was our age too. I remember he had this crazy thick midwestern accent?” Peter’s heart sinks as Guy continues, “and I think he ran track?” 

“That’s- That’s Harley. Harley Keener, he was my roommate.” He mutters. 

“Harley! That’s right, what a man.” And suddenly Guy’s use of man is jaw-clenchingly irritating. Guy shakes his head, leaning his elbow against the table and taking a swig of his beer. “He was so cool. What’s he up to now anyway?” 

“I think he’s a financial consultant?” Peter croaks. 

“Finance? Cool.” The silence lags for a second and Peter takes a huge gulp of his beer. Guy notices. “Do you two still talk?” 

“Us? No, not really. He made it pretty clear he never wants to speak to me again.” 

“Oh.” Guy says awkwardly. 

“Yeah.” Peter mutters, scowling at his beer. And then, with detached self-aware dread, like watching a slow-motion car crash, Peter continues to talk. 

  


**Sub-basement 4,  
**The Triskelion, **Roosevelt Island, Washington  
** ****

****

****

“Shit, shit, fracking shitty, shit shit.” Harley Keener, not a financial consultant, rips the mask from his bleeding face. Ash flakes from his clothes as he bolts from the burning Upload room. Above him, the alarm blares and he can already hear shouts echoing down the hallways. 

His mentor always says ‘if you can’t go out with stealth, go out with a bang’ but Harley thinks he’s slightly overdone it this time as he sprints down the hallway, more explosions rocking the walls behind him. 

He rounds the corner in a baseball slide, taking the armed guard by surprise as he knocks his feet out from underneath him. Grabbing the man’s rifle, he swings it wide as he rises, catching the second guard under the chin and dropping him in the same movement. 

Harley rolls through the door to the opened stairwell. Finding it empty, pulls his phone out again. There’s no way he’s getting out of this situation, now that he’s gone and blown up half the building. He scrolls through his contact list. 

“C’mon, you piece of crap, upload!” he mutters, racing up the stairs two at a time. The phone freezes, overwhelmed by the amount of data Harley’s just downloaded onto it, then the upload bar begins slowly creeping upwards again. 

Harley hits the landing and a door bursts open, two shots barking so loudly near his head he feels his eardrum burst. He kicks the guard who just shot at him back through the doorway. Harley follows them through. 

Another shot rings out. 

  


**The Parker Apartment,  
Queens, New York **  


Peter is more than happy to let the sound of the New York city streets cover he and May’s uncomfortable quiet. Peter spends extra time at the front door stomping slush of his boots in vain hope May will head to bed straight to bed. Instead he heads into to find she’s standing, arms folded, in the centre of the living room waiting for him, so no dice. May takes a deep breath, so Peter jumps in first. 

“The party was amazing, May! Ten out of ten on the holiday cheer, and I’m almost considering converting so we can celebrate Christmas! Which religion do you think that drunk Santa belonged to? I want to join.” 

“Peter, honey.” May takes his elbow. “You know a guy might ask, but no one really wants to hear about your ex’s.” 

“May.” Peter sighs. “Do we really have to have this conversation again?" 

She smiles gently, squeezing his arm. “We’ve rehearsed it enough.” 

“Fine.” Peter says, and steps away from her, ignoring the disappointment etched across her face. “I’ll get over Harley’s betrayal tomorrow." 

He leaves her in the living room, slamming his bedroom door behind him. He rubs his hands down over his face, remembering with mortification his date's face as he listened to Peter’s uncontrollable verbal unloading at the party. 

Peter swears into his hands. 

“Bad date?” Someone asks, and Peter screams, leaping back against the door.

“Ned!” Peter grabs the front of his shirt, “what the hell?" 

“Sorry.” Ned says with a shrug, then goes back to the computer. 

Peter crosses over to him, having a look at what he’s working on. Between them, they’d scrounged up enough tech to create a PC capable of building programs, a holdover from the hopeful days when Ned had been trying to encourage Peter to go back to college. Now Peter just used it for gaming, and Ned sometimes borrowed it to build programs on when his own PC was busy running models. 

He watches Ned work for a moment, as his friend's fingers fly across the keyboard and he silently mouths codes to himself. 

“It was top five embarrassing moments of my life.” Peter confesses quietly, dropping his head onto Ned’s shoulder. 

Ned tips his own head sideways to rest against Peter’s in solidarity. "Worse than the fifth grade talent show? Or when you asked Liz Allen to prom?"

Peter turns his face into Ned’s shirt for a moment and laughs, taking comfort in the familiar stability of Ned, before getting up and falling face first onto his unmade bed. 

“Cheer up, Peter, at least you can talk to some guys.” Ned says. 

“Like who?” Peter mumbles into the bedspread. 

“Like, um, me. I’m a guy- in fact-“ 

The computer chirps with an email alert, and Ned makes a choking noise. “Holy shit,” Ned says, “Harley just emailed you.” 

“Harley.” Peter lifts his head in alarm. 

“Yes, Harley. Harley Keener. Dude who broke your heart, stole your tech, got you kicked out of MIT? Harley Keener?” 

Peter scrambles up, dragging half the bedspread with him. “I know who Harley Keener is.” He says in irritation, leaning over Ned. 

The email notification flashes ominously in the bottom of the screen. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS from h.keener@si.com 

“Merry Christmas?” Ned scoffs. 

Peter’s fingers itch and he feels simultaneous swells of hope and dread in his stomach. How often had he hoped Harley would reach out, explain things, so Peter could understand how things went wrong? He reaches for the mouse, then hesitates. What if what he has to say just makes things worse? What if it's one of those horrible self congratulatory end of year emails complete with photos of Harley with his new boyfriend and their cute dog wearing reindeer antlers. 

“You know you don’t have to open it, right?” Ned says quietly. 

“No.” Peter says, finding his resolve. “I think I should. This is good, right?” He smiles hesitantly at Ned. "Closure?" 

He opens the email but there’s no message in the body, just an enormous file attached. Frowning, Peter downloads the attachment. 

The screen goes black, and then scrolling text appears “YOU ARE MILES MORALES…” the text reads. 

Peter eyebrows raise in surprise as a wall of text explaining the opening scene runs. 

“It’s a choose your own adventure program, based around our favourite Marvel superheroes.” He explains to Ned in confusion as he selects his character's first action. “Harley and I were building one, but we never finished…” 

Of all the abandoned dreams and projects destroyed at the end of Peter’s disastrous last semester at MIT, this project had barely rated. But for some reason Harley had not only kept it, but completed it. 

“What do you think it means?” Ned asks. 

“I don’t know,” Peter says ruefully, clicking through the first moments of Miles’ day until he hits an action sequence, “if I could only remember the correct web shooter combination…” 

Ned rolls his eyes. 

“To defeat the kingpin!” Peter protests. 

“And with that,” Ned announces, picking up his bag from the floor beside Peter's desk. “I’m leaving. Have fun with the weird Christmas present from your ex.” 

“Bye,” Peter says distractedly, “love you.” 

Ned pauses. “Love you too.” He says, then closes the door behind himself. 

  


**Floor 6,  
The Triskelion,  
Roosevelt Island, Washington**

  


Harley runs between the abandoned cubicles, intent on the wall of windows at the end of the office. His breath comes in harsh pants as he stumbles, smearing the blood dripping down his fingers across some poor person’s paperwork. 

Reaching the end, he rests his head against the glass. Lights from the Roosevelt bridge twinkle, and six floors below him, there is only the deep dark river. Harley swears, then limps over to grab a desk. 

“Keener! Freeze!” A shout calls out. 

Harley grits his teeth, and in an explosive burst, shoves the desk through the window. A pistol barks and Harley cries out, dropping to the floor as hot pain lances through his chest. 

“Don’t move!” The voice commands. 

With a trembling hand, Harley checks his phone. Upload complete. He feels a flood of relief, and then the terrifying creep of shock start to set into his system. 

“Put it down, Keener!” The man yells, and Harley can hear their footsteps steadily approaching through the office space. 

Harley pulls his arm back, then throws, sending his phone out the window, into the river below. 

"You're too late!" Harley calls out defiantly, falling back amongst the broken glass. He smiles through bloody teeth when he recognises the leader of the security team approaching. 

“You don’t look very happy to see me.” He says to Agent Hogan. 

“Hands by your head!” Hogan’s gun remains trained on Harley. 

Harley lifts his hands with a wince. 

“Cover me.” Hogan barks, then puts his pistol away. He pulls out a set of cable tie handcuffs. 

That's not an option for Harley.

“When you see him,” Harley says quietly as Hogan kneels beside him, “tell him I’m sorry.” 

Hogan's eyes widen in recognition and he lunges for Harley. He's too slow. Harley rolls back with pained grunt, throwing himself out the window. 

He’s unconscious before he hits the water. 

Harley sinks. 

  


**The Parker Apartment,  
** **Queens, New York  
**

****

Peter deliberates. 

Does he even want to keep playing this game? The cursor blinks at him on the black screen. 

ATTACK WITH VENOM STING he eventually types. 

PASSWORD ACCEPTED appears on the screen, and Peter steps back in confusion as the screen rapidly fills with images. 

This wasn’t part of the game we built, he thinks, as he sees a photos of duck, a rose, a penny, but the images through ghosts inside his brain and he also sees blueprints for a plane, schematics for a cybernetic limb, an email from the White House. 

Peter’s eyelids flutter, and a strange heaviness overtakes his body as thousands of images run, flashing in rapid succession over one another, pixelating and decomposing, separating and coming back together faster in a psychedelic blur, layer upon layer as his limbs begin to shake. 

Eventually, the images stop, the computer shutting down with a thin whine. 

Peter stands numbly before the screen, eyelids still fluttering, as dawn breaks in Queens. 

The 7am alarm goes off in May’s bedroom. 

Peter’s eyes roll back in his head and he collapses. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see, it's not a straight up Chuck AU (hggghhh a pun!) and we haven't even met Tony yet!  
> The action hasn't even started yet, thanks for being willing to come along for the ride with me! 
> 
> The "You are miles morales" take was inspired by @fourdaysofrain 's "You are Peter Parker" which I love. https://syz2fzh25znpzdhvzqh1ia-on.drv.tw/Twine/PeterParker.html  
> And yes, Marvel comics still exists in this universe but we won't have canonical superheroes, unless you want to count whatever the heck is happening to Peter right now <3 Just don't think too hard about it!


End file.
